Faerie Analyst pt 4

Katrina skipped through the door, dodging to one side just as a pot sailed through the doorway where she had been standing. Along with the pot Katrina heard distracted cussing. Katrina waited for a moment, to make sure that there would not be any other objects flying through the door. Sighing she stretched, arching backward to try to release some of the kinks in her back. Katrina didn’t know how long she had been there. She rarely had time to rest as she had shunned the bedroom she originally woke up in. The best she could find was a small corner that smelled like a pet used it as a toilet. Katrina had tried to keep up with the days by making small scratches on the wall in her corner but whenever she left, so did the marks. Katrina used every conceivable moment to try and escape.  There didn’t seem to be any doors that led to the outside world. And after poking her nose into a few rooms that were occupied, she learned stop and listen to make sure it wasn’t a frequently used room.  When Katrina wasn’t poking her nose where it didn’t belong, and when she wasn’t grabbing a few minutes of important rest, she was busy running errands, trying to avoid being a nursemaid or working for the cooks. Katrina’s most hated task was when the fey children cornered her and literally made her into a horse, whipping her when she bucked them off; or having her stand in as a chess piece, squealing with joy when Katrina had to try to avoid being decapitated when her player made a wrong move. 

However, Katrina had learned to use her time wisely. Among the first things she learned was that magic was real. And because her captors could magically heal any damage done to her, she was constantly in danger of getting hurt, or worse, dying. Katrina also learned that whoever her captors were, they were NOT humans. The closest experience that Katrina could relate her experience to was the fairy tales that she read as a child. Not the rosey coated fairy tales peddled by Disney but the originally horror tales by Anderson or the Grimm brothers. Katrina had to rapidly adjust to her new surroundings and even though she still had a hard time believing that she was really in a fairytale, she could not doubt the lacerations or near death experiences that she had encountered while in this strange place. Every few days the same little man would call her back to the throne room and asked her if she was ready to make things right and Katrina always stated that she couldn’t, the final decision was not up to her, she didn’t understand what he wanted. 

Later that night Katrina was curled up in the foul smelling corner, nursing her left arm which had been very nearly severed earlier that day; and reviewed what she knew of fairytales. There was always a hero (or heroine), a villain, a damsel in distress, and a quest. Katrina did not want to be the damsel in distress. Although, she wouldn’t mind someone else taking over this story and freeing her. Katrina knew that if she waited for someone else to bail her out, she could be waiting for a very long time. And, Katrina thought to herself, I’d have to stay alive. That, at least, was looking less and less likely to occur. It also seemed pretty far fetched that she would find a way out of this place without help. Everyone that Katrina had met so far, had either been trying to kill her, or had simply used her. Katrina hadn’t encountered anyone who had even remotely appeared interested in her or even courteous in passing. Katrina knew that she was running out of time. She would have to make a decision. She would have to accept MAN offer and try to fix whatever she had done to land her in this hell hole. Katrina wiped away a few tears, silent crying another constant in her life. All fairy tales start out this way, Katrina reminded herself. All I have to do is make it through. I can do this, I can survive. When even her silent pep talk failed to strengthen her resolve, Katrina closed her eyes, ignoring the continuous flow of tears and determined to get some rest before the next day’s horror’s greeted her. 

Faerie Analyst pt 3

Sore and aching, Katrina limped her way down the hallway, still following the stout little woman who had been sent to collect her. Tiny rivulets of blood were slowly seeping through her clothes and her feet were swelling before her eyes. Katrina looked back once and was not surprised to see that her feet had started to bleed very slightly. Katrina was exhausted from the pain and irate. How dare they, she thought. Purposefully ignoring that she still did not know who "they" were, much less where she was. Katrina's guide finally stopped just outside a grand entryway. The gold gilded door frame rose in a Gothic manner to come to a stylish point above the doors. While the floor was marble, the doors themselves appeared to be oak, heavy and secure, with carved figures and designs. Katrina did not have the luxury of studying the doors as they almost immediately opened and she was pushed inside.

Katrina stumbled, arms windmilling slightly to help her keep her balance. "So," she heard. "What are ye going to do to fix my wee problem?" Katrina regained her balance and looked up, glaring, at the man she had encountered on the street on her way to work. He was sitting in a beautifully carved wooden chair, which was placed on a dais. From where Katrina stood, he closely resembled a king.

"Firstly," Katrina stated, "Who are you?"

The man smiled thinly, the general lack of emotion accompanying the smile more chilling than a threat. "I am the owner of Everlasting Emporium."

"And?" Katrina asked.

"And? And!" The man said, "Ye just put thousands of my people out of business. We rely on good standing with the community to peddle our products."

Katrina waved her hand, dismissing the man's statements before they had fully registered with her. "The company had no viable income. I did as I was instructed. We have strict rules about what we are allowed to accept and what we are not allowed to accept. I can appeal to my manager to review the application but really, I don't see how your company will be processed."

The man's face flushed and angry red. He clutched the arms of the chair and glowered at her. "I have product," he said. "What I donna have is a positive image with the community."

Katrina sighed. "Not my problem," she said. "You should have thought of that before creating your business. And who are you anyway? You simply abducted me from the street, tortured me, and are what? threatening me to ensure that I will return to my job and do as you ask?"

The man leaned back. "Of course," he said. "My kind deal as little as possible with your kind and I thought that from being treated to some of the pleasures that await my employees when the company has been dissolved, you would be more inclined to reverse your decision."

"It doesn't work that way," Katrina said. "And you still haven't answered any of my questions."

"My name is Cabhan."

"Just Cabhan?" Katrina asked.

"I've never needed a surname before," Cabhan stated. "You lot have never taken the time to get to know me or my kind in any capacity."

"What is it with 'my kind' and 'your kind'," asked Katrina in an exhasperated manner. "Irish? Because..."

"Not Irish," Cabhan interrupted, angry again, his face turning red. "Leprecan."

"What?"

"Of course you dinna ken that you were working for the fey folk," Cabhan stated. "But surely you suspected something. My people aren't known for their subtly."

"But I didn't know," Katrina said. And with that a rush of memories swept over her. The folk tales she loved reading, the other fantasy books about the fey, faries, and faeries. The light and dark. The depravity of both. And the knowledge that now that she had been made aware of their existence, there was very little chance that they would allow her to return to her old life.

"Ach," said Cabhan either not recognizing or not caring the turmoil that Katrina was experiencing. "Ye ken now. And ye will fix this issue for me."

Said as a statement and not a question, Katrina could only imagine what would happen if she did not, or could not, comply.

Faerie Analyst pt 2

When Katrina regained consciousness, she was laying in a rather odd position on what felt like sand. Katrina groaned and moved her hand to rub the back of her head. She immediately became aware that the odd bed she was lying on was made of millions of sharp needle like thorns. If she moved at all, she would have hundreds of new thorny friends in her skin. Katrina froze and then very carefully tried to move back into a more comfortable position. Katrina laid that way for what seemed like hours. Katrina replayed the interaction with the neon man in her head, trying to look for a clue as to who he was. Katrina was also making a conscious effort to not panic. Katrina consciously slowed her breathing and counted when the wave of anxiety threaten to swamp her ability to think. Katrina resorted to using cold, hard logic to push the intense emotions away and help her focus on where she was and how to escape. Katrina had not made any progress when a small potbellied woman trundled into the room.

"Oh," the woman said, sounding disappointed. "You're awake already."

Katrina took a very careful breath and whispered, "Yes."

"Well you can stop lying there for starters," the woman said. "I may be a brownie but you are not even a guest of the house so you can forget about me waiting on you hand and foot."

Katrina took another careful breath, "Needles?" she asked.

"Oh do you like them?" the woman's face brighten momentarily. "It's a design I made myself. Each thorn was specially picked and colored. And the bed is amazingly comfortable, as long as you don't move."

"Yes," Katrina said carefully. "I discovered that."

The woman stood, arms folded across her chest, as if waiting. "Well?" she said finally. "I don't have all day."

Katrina's eyes opened wide, the only physical reaction to the panic that was bubbling just below the surface she allowed herself. "You expect me to climb out?" she asked.

"Well of course," the woman said. "I don't have all day and the Master is eager to see you. Takes a chunk of time out of my day just standing here babysitting you when I could be attending to my other duties."

"Is there some trick to climbing out without getting stabbed?" Katrina asked.

"No."

Katrina took a shallow breath, preparing herself. She carefully raised the arm that she had moved before, immediately feeling the tiny torn's digging into her skin, and stretched out toward what she assumed was the frame of the bed.

"I wouldn't touch that for too long," the woman said as she watched Katrina's progress. "It's hot."

As Katrina's hand got closer, she could feel the heat radiating off the long solid beam. There was not going to be a way to get out that didn't hurt. Katrina instead decided to try to stand and jump out, at least that would put the majority of the spikes in one place instead of having the torture spread evenly throughout her body. Katrina gingerly balanced on her hands and feet and then stood. Taking a deep breath she jumped and landed on the red hot frame. Katrina screamed, lost her balance, and tumbled to the floor, hitting her head. Katrina could taste blood and reaching up felt a new bump and wetness which she assumed was blood. Katrina groaned.

The woman sighed. "No time for resting," she said. "If you didn't try to avoid the pain, it would have been over a lot sooner. The woman grasped Katrina's arm and Katrina gasped as she felt some of the hitchhiker thorns digging deeper into her flesh. The woman yanked Katrina to her feet. Katrina wobbled uncertainly, her vision going dark as her blood pressure tried to decide between her head and her feet. The woman tsked and shoved Katrina out the doorway.

Faerie Analyst

There was a time in Katrina's life when things were predictable. She knew where she was going to wake up and what she was going do to on any particularly given day. She knew the people around her and she absolutely knew that magic did not exist. Unfortunately, that was a very long time ago.

Katrina didn't exactly love her job but it paid the bills and it wasn't sucking the joy out of her life like some of the more unfortunate friends she knew. Katrina worked for the Center of Holistic Life and Being company. Which was a fancy way to say that they specialized in organization and management. Katrina's job did not consist of the more predigest aspect of firing people, she was just an analyst. Katrina would review potential clients, some who had invited the company and some who had not; and based on the probability of profit, she would send that information to the call center. The call center would contact the companies and would set up a time for the efficiency experts to visit the companies personally. Katrina never questioned her job until she saw something rather odd come across her desk. The company in question was Everlasting Emporium but as far as Katrina could tell, did not buy or sell any actual products. Katrina looked a bit deeper and found that the company had upward of 1000 employees with no observable methods of income. Katrina sent the information to the fraud department and put it out of her mind.

A few weeks later, while she was rushing to the office, lamenting over the fact that getting to work late was becoming a habit; she was stopped by the oddest looking man, causing her to stop short, and spilling her coffee all over her ivory top. Katrina stopped to glare at the man and gasped involuntarily at what she saw. He was a half a head shorter than Katrina and had on the most awful looking neon tweed suit, with a collection of colors ranging from pink to green to purple. Katrina, still shuttering from the affects of the tweed on her sensibilities, tried to move around the man but he stepped in her way again.

"Excuse me," Katrina tried. The man frowned.

"Ye were the reason why my loan was not accepted," he said with a think Irish accent, frowning up at her with lowered brows.

"I'm sorry?" Katrina said, "Mister..."

"It's not right," the man continued, ignoring Katrina's prompt. "Ye should be more careful. I have thousands of worker's depending on me. Ye canna just make decisions without thinking of those affected."

"I apologize," Katrina said, now trying to inch around the strange person. "But I really don't know what you're talking about."

"Ye will," the man said threateningly.

Katrina abandoned all pretense of civility and turned her back on the man. The last thing she remembered was a heavy hand on her shoulder and a cool icy fear racing through her veins.

The realization

Emma carefully set the steaming cup of tea onto the side table beside her study chair and collapsed into a crumpled ball on the soft cushions. Her feet came up and tucked themselves into the side of the chair, her knees resting just under her chin. Her back curved in a long round ball folding her breasts into her stomach. It was an action reminiscent of when she heard her mother died.

The female detective had walked awkwardly into the interview room, holding two styrofoam cups, translucent steam appearing in short bursts over the rim. Avoiding eye contact with Emma, the detective set the cups down, hot liquid tipping over the edge scalding her fingertips. She swore softly sticking the finger in her mouth for a second before finally glancing up and looking at Emma. The plainly dressed woman with the severely tight hair style let out her breath slowly and sat down. Hands slowing the process by bracing her body weight against the metal table. Emma ignored the cup and stared at the strange woman waiting. Dreading. Hoping.

"Hi," the woman said, wrapping her hands around the cup. Her dark blue eyes looked directly into Emma's for the first time. "I'm sorry I have to tell you this, your mother is dead."

Emma's head filled with a roaring sound. The woman was still speaking, she could hear the words pinging like cold coins against the sterile walls and dirty tiles, they were individual and jumbled. Emma put her hands on her chest, the heel of one hand on top of the other pushing into the sternum. Fingers wrapped around her neck. Thumb jammed against her throat preventing her from breathing; or crying. Feet lifting off the floor to push her knees against her chest, tucking her arm behind them, instinctively trying to keep the emotions inside.

Every since that day Emma would curl into a protective position in the face of something terrible. Something even she could not understand. Today, that thing was the Shadow.

A Visitor

Thump, thump, drag.
Thump, thump, drag.

The odd pattern continued.

Thump, thump, drag.
Thump, thump, drag.

Behind the giant arm chair Charity trembled.

Thump, thump, drag.
Thump, thump, drag. Thump.

It stopped. Squishing herself flat against the floor the 5-year old girl peered our from under the safety of the intimidating claw legs.

FEET!

Charity scurried backward on her stomach. There were standing right in from of her, with two metal poles reaching upward like prison bars blocking her escape.

Clip, clip, clip, clip, clip, clip.

Her mother walked briskly into the room. Silk dress swishing to an abrupt halt as her red heels came to a stop beside the menacing poles. Voices murmured above the chair, dampened by the generous cushions and thick carpet. Suddenly the ceiling of her hiding place sank. Someone was sitting in the chair!

Charity let out one brief squeak before covering her mouth with both hands. Pushing her chin against the floor to put as much space between her and the sitter as possible. The chair groaned as it's new occupant wiggled around to find a comfortable position.

"Charity," her mother said. The red heels shifted and the silk skirts collapsed as her mother bent down to look under the chair. "Come out and meet our visitor," she said, holding out a hand.

Charity wiggled backward like a worm retreating before standing up in the small space between the chair and the wall. Her mother lifted her out gracefully, making sure Charity's now dusty shoes did not scrape the tall chair back. She was placed on her feet in front of the mysterious visitor and firm hands turned her around to face the chair properly.

"Charity," her mother said. "Say hello to your Grandfather."

A new outlook

Harriet stared at herself in the mirror. The thick wrapped dress did nothing to soften the bulging stomach or bloated thighs. She frowned at her image and slipped the dress off again. Hanging back up carefully she got dressed in her sweat pants and baggy t-shirt. She walked out and hanged the dress back to the attendent.

"Oh dear," the thin stick-figured woman said, "It didn't work out?"

Harriet pasted a polite smile on her face and shook her head. She kept her eyes down as she left the store, hands shoved deep into her pockets, shoulders hunched forward. Even her car shook as she sat down. She sat staring at the silver foil of her sun reflector. She felt normal once. She wasn't always this size. She had confidence, or at least less self conscience.

She drove home quickly. Walking into her apartment she went directly to her bedroom and changed into her most flattering top and suit pants. Then she stood in front of a full length mirror and stared at her body critically. She had luscious cuves that gave her body character and definition. Her eyes were a molton grey framed by deep black lashes. Her arms and thighs were firm. Her hair was luminous and curly. She sighed and smiled. She was okay just the way she was.